When Traces Remain
by timelucked
Summary: It's always been me and my mom. We've always had each other. Nobody else. We didn't need it. That hasn't changed. I don't think it ever will and that's good, I think. But going home, it felt lonely. Sitting at the table felt weird, after the crash.


I guess I was just used to it being us. Mom never really mentioned my dad – who he was, is, wanted to be – and I only ever asked once. She had this strange look on her face. Then she shook her head and asked me what I wanted for lunch.

I told her peanut butter and jelly, please.

So I never really asked again. I kept my mouth shut and my lips around the crustless edge of my bread.

I can't really remember what that pb&j tasted like. Thinking back on it, it didn't really taste like much. I guess it tasted a bit like ash. Like when you get the soot from a campfire in your mouth after the wind blows at the wrong moment.

Mom and I went camping once. There was a guy there too, but it's - hard to remember who. I think it was John. But it might have been Matt. I don't know. He didn't smile much.

I think it was Matt.

He made a campfire out of some twigs. No matches, just some twigs. I can't hear his voice, but I remember him telling me to always remember this; that it was useful, it might come in handy one day. I don't remember him very well, but I remember him watching over us when we were sleeping. He was outside the tent when I tried to go to the bathroom. His face was away from the fire, and all I can remember is seeing shadows.

Maybe it was John.

But it might have been Matt.

I never asked about my dad again. But I thought about him. I always thought about him. Who he was, what he is, where he's from, how'd he meet my mom, why didn't he know about me. I wondered if he was a superhero when I was seven. I thought he was a monster when I was ten.

But now whenever I think of my dad, I see this guy. I can't really tell who it is. I feel like I know him. But I know I don't. I don't really remember much of anything since the car crash, and sometimes it feels like I'm just seeing people like they're dreams.

I see them in my sleep, but I know they're real. They were real. Maybe only when I was a kid, but they were real. There was a guy, always the same guy. I was standing in front of a car and he was getting ready to do an oil check. That's what he said anyway. I'd never seen one of those things before. Mom always had us go down to the mechanic to do it. We had to sit in the waiting room. But the guy showed me how to use it, told me to be really careful.

He stepped back once I got the hang of it.

I tried turning to him, to see if he was proud. I really wanted him to be proud. But now all I can see is a smile. I don't know what his eyes look like - or his face. But I can still see his smile. And his jacket. He always wore that jacket.

The guy visits me in my dreams a lot. Sometimes we're by the car, long and black, doing an oil check or checking the engine. Sometimes we're at the park and he's teaching me how to stand up to bullies. Like back when I was a kid and some guy told me to do the same thing. I remember mom yelling at him. His back was turned. I can't see his face. I never can.

But sometimes, we're at the breakfast table, and he's making eggs for us. I can only see his back, and mom is rubbing it this time. She pats him on the shoulder and he turns to kiss her. I guess that was their queue or something. I can't see his face though. Just his smile. It's small, but it's there.

That's what I remember about the guy, the one in my dreams. He always smiled, but it was really tight like when someone isn't the happiest they can be.

One day I had a dream and his eyes were green. They were green and they were sad. I tried to tell him to not be sad, Dad, and then I woke up. I think I said Dad. I don't know anyone else that has a D-name. Darren maybe? No, that wasn't Darren. Maybe it was John.

After that dream, I started imagining my dad again. And every time I saw my dad, I saw this guy. He made my mom really happy. It almost felt real. But it was just a dream.

I don't tell my mom. I wouldn't know how. And anyway, I like having this image of my dad. It's nicer this way. I keep adding to him in between songs on my iPod.

I have a lot of thoughts about who my dad could be. But whenver I think of him, I see a superhero – but a monster too.

Can a person really be two things at once? Can they be bad and good? Can a guy be Hyde and still be Jekyll? I learned about them in school the other day. I didn't really like the lesson.

It doesn't matter, he isn't real. None of them are. Nothing feels real anymore since the crash.

Although sometimes, it really felt like he was. Like I knew him. I can't.

But I wish I did.

I read a comic once where a guy lost all his memories, but they kept coming back to him because in the back of his head he kept thinking about them. In the end he walked away and the book said, "Not everything is forgotten when the traces still remain."

I didn't really get it, but I feel like I will one day. Somebody used to tell me that a lot. I can't remember who.

Not since the crash.

A lot changed with the crash.

It's always been me and my mom. We've always had each other. Nobody else. We didn't need it. That hasn't changed. I don't think it ever will and that's good, I think. I only want my mom. But going home, it felt lonely. Sitting at the table felt weird after the crash. We both felt it, but neither of us said anything.

We were fine, but we weren't.

I think we both tasted the ash instead of the pepper. You'd think we'd use more salt, but we like pepper. For whatever reason, we have a lot of salt in the house. Bags of it. It was weird. I don't remember why we bought it. But we have it.

We never use it though. It's just there.

One time mom had my clean my room, and I found some salt by the window. It was weird.

I left it there though. I don't know why.

Maybe it was John by the fire. But I think it was Matt. Or maybe it was Dean.

Dean.

Who's Dean?

* * *

**A/N:**

**So I am a big Doctor Who fan and the Amy and Rory arc where she brings him back really intrigued me. When Castiel took away Ben and Lisa's memories of Dean upon his bequest, I – sobbed relentlessly with heavy, racking wails – thought about that. **

**He's an angel, yes, but I wanted to entertain the idea that Ben and Lisa still had fragments of memories. Fuzzy and blurry, but still there. I didn't want that to go away. Ever. They'll never remember Dean, but they'll remember a man that made them happy once, and protected them. Even in their last moments of knowing him, he sacrificed everything as he does, to give them the peace they deserved.**

**But yeah, I really like the Ben-vantage point so I tried my hand at it! Thank you for reading! :) **


End file.
